


Lost Time, Found Love

by Timcanpy_Sees_All



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Age Difference, Also definitely evil, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Exorcist!Reader - Freeform, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, The Earl is a Sweetheart, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timcanpy_Sees_All/pseuds/Timcanpy_Sees_All
Summary: It was only meant to be a silly story, but everything goes wrong when from the tip of your pen you write a tale of a young lady who falls asleep and is forgotten. Now your own tale of woe, you wake up nearly four decades later and join the Black Order. You have no hope of ever seeing your friends and family again, but there's a kindly gentleman who claims to love you dearly and knew you back then.
Relationships: Mana Walker/Reader, Sennen Hakushaku | Millennium Earl/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue: Gift of Words

It was a useless knickknack you bought at the antique shop. You’d hoped it would prove a good luck charm of sorts, an inspiration to your writing. Turns out, the beautiful fountain pen with inlaid opalescent feathers and delicate gold filigree was a dud. It couldn’t even hold ink. You’d tried twice to fill it, but the end result had been great splotches all over your desk as it ran right through.

You glare at the lovely little hunk of junk as if that would convince it to behave and sigh. “I guess I can always just use it as a dip pen,” you mutter to yourself. It’s too pretty to just throw away, and while you would prefer it work, well… better something than nothing, right?

The lines it draws are clean, at least. It doesn’t splotch as you write a few letters. It also holds the ink quite well when dipped. You write a few more lines of nonsense, admiring your handiwork, then frown. You hadn’t loaded it up _that_ much, had you? You try to peer into the nib and find no ink. _That’s funny._ You make a few more scratches on the page. It still writes just fine. Weird.

 _Some must have stuck,_ you think with a shrug. You’ll just have to be more careful when you fill it. Right now, you have to go scrounge up something for dinner for you and your aunt. With the move coming up, you both had been trying to clean out the cupboards and had been a little _too_ successful in that mission.

It’s a beautiful fall day outside, and as you walk down the thoroughfare, you find yourself watching the trees above you more than you are where you’re going. It’s a good thing you did. It meant you saw his little trick coming a mile away.

“Afternoon, Alice!” comes the melodious voice of one Mana Campbell from the rustle of leaves above your head. Half a second later, the young man in question appears upside-down before you, his long tangle of curly black hair nearly touching the ground as he dangles from the branch. He’s grinning up a storm as always, and his smile is infectious.

“Mana, you’ll give me a heart attack one of these days,” you scold. You’ve long since given up on him ever dropping his silly nickname for you.

He only laughs as he swings himself back up and gracefully hops down. “Going shopping? Here, let me,” and he takes the basket from you.

You look around, realizing a certain someone is missing. “Where’s your brother?” Normally, they were attached at the hip.

Mana’s easy smile falters. “Ah, we… had a bit of a fight.”

“About what?”

He hesitates. “It’s complicated. We’re… well… Yeah, too complicated.”

You giggle. “Is it a twin thing a non-twin like me will never understand?”

“Sort of.” He scratches his cheek. “I’m… not sure anyone would get it, really. It’s…”

“Complicated?”

He chuckles. “You took the word right out of my mouth.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you two will figure it out. So long as you keep talking to each other, it’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sure it’s something talking will fix.” He then flashes his brilliant smile. “I guess we won’t know unless I try.”

He links his arm with yours, and you’re on your way through the fall foliage. “So what brings you into town?” you ask.

“I have something to pick up at the bookshop.”

The bookshop? As far as you knew, there was only one reason Mana would ever stop there. “The next book isn’t out already, is it?”

He chuckles. “Nope. Guess again.”

“Hm… then something for your mother?”

“Closer, but not quite.”

“Your uncle then?”

“Getting colder.”

You poke his cheek. “You need to give me more of a hint than that.”

“All right.” He pecks your cheek. “Wait here, and you’ll see.”

Mana laughs brightly as he leaves you blushing in front of the shop. He’s always been affectionate, bordering on overly so, and ever since you were children, he had been the cuddly type. The opposite of his brother, who preferred to keep everyone, his brother and mother excluded, at arm length.

His touchy-feely nature had only increased as you got older, even more so of late. He’s a few years younger than you, sixteen to your eighteen. You tell yourself he’s just being silly and doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still gets your hopes up sometimes.

Especially when he does things like this. When he returns, he pushes a pair of colorfully wrapped packages in your hands. “A going away present,” he explains when you look at it dumbfoundedly. “Since we won’t be able to see each other as much, I wanted to get you something.”

You tear off the paper and find a beautifully bound book. Embossed on the cover in gold is a single word, _“Stories,”_ in a lovely script. You tear the paper further and find tucked away at the bottom your name in the same golden curly letters.

“Since I won’t be around to hear your stories, I thought you could write them down and I could read them next time one of us visits?”

You giggle. “I didn’t think my stories were that good.”

“They’re great! You’re going to have a big hit one day, and I hope you’ll remember us little people when you make it big. Especially,” he takes his other gift and sets it atop the tome, “since we won’t be seeing each other as much anymore.”

The second gift is a stationary set made up of a pad of paper with your favorite flowers in the corners and matching envelopes. You don’t want to think how much either gift must have cost. “I can’t possibly accept these!”

“Of course you can!” Mana replies. “And you gotta write me every day, okay?”

“Every day’s a bit much,” you laugh.

“Then every week?”

“I’ll do my best.”

His face lights up. “Good. Because we’ve been friends for forever, and I don’t want to lose touch just because you’re moving.”

 _Friends._ You knew that was the case, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

* * *

You were sent on ahead to your new home in the middle of nowhere. It’s an old manor house that’s been in the family for years, and after all the delays and fights over your great grandmother’s will, you’ve finally inherited it. It’s… kind of lonely. Your aunt woke up with a cold that morning, and because your maid stayed behind to take care of her, you’re on your own for the night. Tomorrow, the rest of the staff will arrive, but for now, it’s just you.

It’s a nice place, though it’s far too quiet for your liking. You light the lamp in your bedroom and open the book Mana gave you. Pristine pages greet you, as does a little note slipped just inside the cover in Mana’s neat looping letters. _‘I miss you already, but I know you’ll make lots of friends in your new home.’_ Rather than sign it, he had drawn a childish depiction of a clown’s face.

You giggle to yourself at the inside joke. When you were children, you’d all gone to see the circus with your aunt. The two of you had been enchanted by the lights and music, and though Nea made fun of his brother for it, Mana had declared that he would become a clown when he grew up. While you aren’t sure how true that is anymore, the jest about his future plans had stuck to him just as much as ‘Alice’ had to you.

And that inspires you now. You smile to yourself as you pick up the antique pen. You scribble down your thoughts so you’ll remember later, then push your new notebook aside to start on a letter to the Campbells.

By the time you set your pen down, it’s getting late. Strangely enough, it hasn’t run out of ink yet, but you’ve stopped questioning it. You can barely keep your eyes open as you flop on to your bed for some much-needed rest after a long day’s travel.

Tucked into your bed and already drifting off, you don’t notice the ink on the page glow softly in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mana is a sweet cinnamon roll who needs all of the love. Even if he is the Earl.
> 
> Also, I'm taking advantage of the "alternate end to the 19th century" setting of DGM and saying in this alternate end, Alice in Wonderland was published a few years before it was in real life


	2. Princess in the Tower

“Are you sure this is the place?” Allen asks, looking up at the old manor. For a place left to the elements so long, it’s in fabulous condition.

The Finder nods. “As you can see,” he turns the key in the old lock to demonstrate, “the door won’t open no matter what anyone does. They’ve even tried breaking windows, but… well…” He hefts a large rock, gestures for them to stand back, and then throws it with all his might.

It bounces harmlessly off the glass. Lenalee voices what they all think: “Innocence.”

“Like Miranda’s clock?” Lavi looks the front of the building up and down. “But if we can’t break in, how are we supposed to investigate?”

Remembering the rewinding city, Allen tries the knob. “Maybe we can get in because we’re exorcists?” The door swings open under his touch. He turns to the Finder. “Wait here. We’ll take a look around and make sure it’s safe.”

The Finder bows. “Of course. I will contact you via golem if anything changes out here.”

Inside the building, the rooms are spotless. It’s obvious no one has lived here in years, and yet there’s no dust nor dirt. A fire smolders in the grate of one parlor they pass through, seeming like it will snuff itself out any minute and yet continuing to crackle away. Howard Link kneels beside it. “Odd. It’s not moving.”

They see what he means. It’s giving off a faint glow and a comfortable warmth, and it certainly _sounds_ like it’s burning, but the dying embers don’t change. There are no sparks to accompany the pops and snaps, and none of the smoke that a dying fire would normally give off.

“So time’s just frozen in here?” Lavi asks.

Allen takes up a poker and stirs up the fire. It sparks to life, then freezes the way flames in a painting might. “I don’t think that’s quite it. We can interact, but that’s about it.”

“Probably because of our anti-Akuma weapons,” Lenalee agrees. “We should keep moving. There has to be something in here.”

Lavi peers up a staircase. “Like up there?” He points to a bedroom door left ajar. A sliver of light spills across the floorboards from there.

After a brief game of Rock-Paper-Scissors that Allen loses (like always), he pushes open the door. Unlike the rest of the house, this room isn’t uninhabited. A young woman sleeps on the bed, curled up beneath her comforter and smiling as she sleeps. Unlike everything else, she doesn’t appear frozen. Just… sound asleep.

“Strike!” Lavi cries. “Think she’s single?”

Lenalee rolls her eyes and goes to shake the girl awake. There’s no response. “Do you think she’s the cause?”

Lavi grins. “Maybe. She’s so gorgeous she practically stopped my heart.”

“I think that pick-up line needs a bit of work.” Allen goes to the desk. He picks up an envelope addressed to ‘The Campbell Family.’ He’s heard that name before, hasn’t he? Well, it’s a common enough surname. He sets that aside and spots the open notebook. “What’s this?”

Lavi, Link, and Lenalee read over his shoulder. It’s a story of sorts. More like a summary or a list of plot points. It's about a young woman cursed into an eternal sleep and is forgotten by all but her true love until the day a clown comes and awakens her with a kiss.

“Sounds cheesy,” Lavi comments.

“I don’t know. It sounds like it could be a sweet love story,” replies Lenalee. “I’d read it if it were written well.”

Allen shuts the cover and reads the name he finds in the corner there. “…(Y/N)?” He glances back at the sleeping young woman, then back at the story. “I think she wrote this.”

“But it’s just a story, isn’t it?” Lavi takes the book and flips through a few more pages. “It’s all blank otherwise. Doesn’t look like the book is the Innocence.”

“What about the pen?” Lenalee tries to pick it up, but her fingers pass right through. Much like Miranda’s grandfather clock, there’s more to this antique than meets the eye.

Lavi glances between the pen and the notebook, then pats Allen on the shoulder. “Guess ya gotta take one for the team there, Allen.”

Allen doesn’t follow. “What are you talking about?”

“That story. A clown wakes her up with a kiss. Afraid you’re the only clown we’ve got, Moyashi. I’m kinda jealous, actually.”

His eyebrow twitches in irritation at the nickname. “What makes you think that’s got anything to do with it?”

“Says here that the house doesn’t change with the sleeping princess and that she’s long forgotten by everyone,” Lavi points out, scanning the contents of the passage a second time. “Pretty much explains everything if the pen’s the Innocence. Doesn’t hurt to try, anyway.”

He has a point, but that doesn’t make this any less weird. “Does it say I have to kiss her on the lips?”

“Nope.” Lavi waggles his eyebrows. “Not like it’s your first kiss. Road stole that, didn’t she?”

“Don’t remind me.” Allen crosses the room and kneels beside the bed. He takes the hand peeking out from under the covers and brushes his lips against the knuckles in a featherlight kiss.

* * *

It’s a pleasant dream, even if you’ve long since become aware that it is one. Affectionate as he can be, you doubt Mana would ever suddenly realize his feelings for you and want to make out, but it’s nice. His lips taste like the chocolate cake he filched from the kitchen for your little picnic, and his fingers are gentle as they card through your hair.

He pulls back, blushing and panting and unable to meet your gaze as he whispers your name, not that silly nickname. You lean in for another kiss and—

“I think she’s waking up!”

You frown at the unfamiliar voice and whine softly at your dream interrupted. You go so far as to try pulling the covers over your head to hide from the light shining in through your window—

Wait, your window faces the west. Your brow scrunches. Even half asleep, you know that it would have to be pretty late in the day to get any sunlight through there. Did the servants arrive late and come to check in on you when you weren’t there to greet them?

Groggily, you sit up and rub your eyes. Watching you are four people, and it takes a moment for you to realize you’ve never seen them before. Three wear dark uniforms while the fourth wears a crisp suit, but none are clothes for household staff. Rather, the three look military in nature and are emblazoned with a silver rose cross. The redhaired man gets way too close to you and grabs your hands in his.

“Hey there,” he greets you cheerily, “you’re not hurt, are you?”

Thrown for a loop, you can only blink stupidly at him a moment. “Um… no? Why—?”

“Good, ‘cause I was afraid you might’ve hurt yourself when you fell from heaven.”

The blond man in the suit grabs him roughly by the ear and yanks him back. The white-haired teen has averted his eyes, his cheeks tinged a little red.

It takes a second before you realize why. You’re only in your nightgown, and sometime during the night it bunched up around your thighs and leaves nothing to the imagination now that you’ve pushed the covers back. Your face grows hot, and you snatch a pillow.

“Get out!” you shriek, throwing the makeshift projectile. It hits the redhead in the face, and the white-haired teen excuses himself very quickly. The blond is quick to follow, and the girl shoves the redhead out not long after. She, however, remains even as you ready for another volley.

“We can explain, Miss (Y/N),” she says quickly, holding her hands before her to show she means no harm. “We’re exorcists from the Black Order.”

You don’t set your other pillow down just yet. “Black Order?” you repeat.

She nods. “My name is Lenalee Lee, and my companions are Allen Walker, Lavi and Inspector Howard Link. We were sent to investigate something strange about this house, and we stumbled upon you.”

Really? Your awful relatives were still so upset about you inheriting Great Grandmama’s mansion that they sent the _church_ after your property? Can’t they just leave you alone? You groan. “I don’t know what my uncle told you, but this house isn’t haunted, nor is it possessed in anyway, and I’m not either. I don’t need any exorcists.”

Lenalee doesn’t look surprised by your reaction. They must get this a lot. It makes you wonder just how many vengeful relatives they’ve dealt with. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she says, a customer servicewoman’s smile on her face. “We aren’t that sort of exorcist. We were called here because strange things really were happening.”

“Like what?” You prop an elbow on your knee and lean your cheek in your hand.

“Well, this building has been abandoned for almost four decades,” she explains, “but people always see an oil lamp flickering from this room at night. And when a Mr. Cartwright”—either your uncle or your older cousin—“came to claim the house, he found that the key wouldn’t open the lock. He tried to get a locksmith to solve the problem, they couldn’t get it open either. Breaking and entering was impossible—supernaturally so—and then they contacted us to investigate.”

Abandoned? For decades? Your great grandmother passed away maybe five years ago, and the building was hardly abandoned. A skeleton staff was keeping up the place while the will was sorted out and had only just retired once things were settled.

Lenalee hesitates when she sees the incredulous stare you send her way, then asks, “Erm, this might sound like an odd question, but what do you think today’s date is?”

She’s right. That is an odd question. You tell her, and her face falls a little. “I see. Well, this may come as a bit of a shock to you, but I think you might have been asleep here for thirty-six years.”

“That’s impossible.”

Lenalee lifts your brand-new notebook from the desk and offers it to you. “Did you write this?”

Where is this coming from? You shut the book and hold it close to your chest. “Do you often go through people’s things?”

“Sometimes we need to in order to find out what happened. You see, we came here searching for a substance we call ‘Innocence’ that causes strange phenomena. I think your pen might be made of Innocence, and when you wrote that story, it came true.”

This young woman must be insane, or else very, _very_ confused. That’s the only explanation you can think of. “It’s _fiction_ ,” you tell her. “It’s just an outline for a story I probably won’t even bother writing.”

Like before, she doesn’t seem surprised by your reaction. She goes back to the desk and requests you watch her carefully. You climb out of bed to do so, and to your disbelief, her hand passes right through your fountain pen. You snatch it up to figure out her trick but find no sign of tampering.

“Try writing something,” Lenalee suggests. “Something, erm, not dangerous.”

They have to be pulling a practical joke. You open your notebook and pull the most random thought you can out of your head. You describe a music box you'd admired any number of times at the Campbell estate, one decorated with poppies made of red lacquer and shell that played a tinkling version of some concerto or other. The twins and you had knocked it over during a rambunctious game of tag you shouldn’t have been playing indoors when you were small, and after she’d had the crack in the lid repaired, their mother had kept it safely locked away in a curio cabinet.

There’s a soft _thunk_ as something lands on your desk, and that familiar song you’ve never heard anywhere else begins to play. Sitting next to your notebook is that box complete with the faint scar of the repair. The pen falls from your hand, but no ink splatters the page as would happen with any other fountain pen. The box vanishes just as suddenly.

This is absolutely impossible. There’s no way a _pen_ can create things. Not like this.

Allen’s voice, low and urgent, comes through the door. “Lenalee, we need to get Miss (Y/N) out of here. Akuma are coming.”

“Right.” Lenalee hurries to your wardrobe and retrieves a coat for you to wear. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time, but you need to trust us. Bring your pen and your notebook, and we can come back for anything else later.”

Your group doesn’t get far before these ‘Akuma’ catch up. They’re grotesque and bloodthirsty, and though their companion in the tan coat keeps you back from the action, you find yourself frozen in fear as these monsters try to kill the three in black.

The pen grows hot in your shaking grip, as if reminding you of its presence. Before you’d made a box appear. Perhaps you can do something now.

You cast about your mind for a guardian, and then scribble down what you can remember of King Arthur and his knights. One by one, knights on horseback trot out of thin air before you, lances and crest-emblazoned shields at the ready. They charge, and one lance pierces one of the creatures. It’s destroyed in an instant, and another knight spears a second.

The tide turns now that the numbers have been evened up, but you have trouble keeping up with what is happening. It feels as if your head has been stuffed with cotton, and your vision is growing hazy at the edges. You wobble, and Link catches you before you can fall.

“Stop invoking the Innocence,” he orders. His voice is so far away.

“The what?” You try to remember what that is. Lenalee had mentioned it.

“The knights. Make them disappear. You’re overtaxing yourself.”

How had you done it last time? You can’t remember. The music box disappeared when you dropped your pen, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea now. Shakily, you draw a line through each knight’s name.

With each name scratched out, the knight vanishes. When Arthur is the only one remaining, you stay your hand until the final Akuma is destroyed. Then, gone is his name as well. You feel drained, but also exhilarated. The Knights of the Round Table, if only for a few brief minutes, had been real and yours to command. You find yourself grinning. Just wait until Mana hears about this!

Allen offers you a hand. “Thank you for your help. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.” You stumble a little when he pulls you to your feet. Your legs feel like jelly, and you are a little lightheaded, but you’ll live.

Now that the danger has passed, you insist on returning to your house to change into proper attire. While you change upstairs, you hear voices in the parlor downstairs.

Link tries to explain the situation as you’ve relayed it to him to what sounds like your uncle. The man insists that he doesn’t have a cousin with your name, and certainly not one who had inherited the house. “My aunt inherited this godforsaken house,” he proclaims loudly, “and now that she’s passed, it belongs to me!”

You frown. Cousin? Aunt? You creep down the stairs and peer into the parlor.

That’s not your uncle spitting like a cat at Inspector Link. He looks more like your cousin, but he’s too old. About four decades too old—

Your pulse roars in your ears, and you feel like you might faint. Lenalee had told you, but you hadn’t wanted to believe her.

Mr. Cartwright spots where you lean heavily on the doorframe. His face contorts in disgust, and he looks so much like his father that you want to laugh. “Who the hell are you, and why are you on my property?”

“ _Your_ property?” you repeat incredulously. “Great Grandmama left this house to _me_.”

He pulls a folded will from his coat pocket to thrust it your face. You scan it and find your name absent. Instead, your aunt is listed. Your mouth falls open, and then you rush to the secretary desk in the parlor. In the locked drawer, you retrieve your own copy of Great Grandmama’s will, one that still acknowledges you and show it to him.

It’s his turn to look confused, but try as the exorcists might to explain the situation, he refuses to listen. “I don’t _have_ a cousin,” he shouts. “This is obviously some kind of… of _scam_ you lot are putting on.” He tears your copy of the will in two and throws it in the fire.

“Get off of my property!” Spittle flies with the command. “Get out or I’ll call the police! I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here but get _out!_ ”

Lenalee tries to comfort you, but telling you that you wouldn’t have been able to stay even had the house still belonged to you is of little consolation. You’ve written yourself out of existence with your little flight of fancy, and the girlish romance story you’d half-based on your crush on Mana is far more dangerous than you ever thought possible.

Allen has a little more luck. Back at the Order and with his blond shadow, he brings you some tea in one of the common areas. It’s obscenely late, but after having slept more than three decades, you aren’t sure you’ll ever close your eyes again.

“I’ve really messed things up,” you mutter into your mug of chamomile. “I slept through my aunt passing, and now I’m penniless and don’t really exist.”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Allen says as you nibble one of the shortbread cookies he’d brought with the tea. “Someone remembers you, right? Your… um... true love?”

“The true love character and the clown were supposed to be the same person,” you explain with a sigh, “and he was supposed to know the cursed lady before.”

Allen hums to himself. “I don’t think that was clear in what you wrote,” he says at length, “so maybe the Innocence treated them like two different people.” He smiles at you, and your heart aches to see it. It’s so much like Mana’s. “Maybe that’s why no one remembered you when you woke up. I bet if we find that person, everything will sort itself out.”

It’s not the story you had set out to tell, but maybe he’s right. “But how do I find him?” you ask. “Mana has to be in his fifties by now, and who knows if he’s still…” you trail off when you see Allen’s stricken expression. “Did I say something odd?”

Link pulls from his pocket a notepad and pen, and you realize the screwed up little fairy tale you wrote for yourself is starting to veer into a detective procedural. Allen’s eyes flick to his companion, then back to you. “You don’t mean… um… Mana Wa—” he stops short and corrects himself, “ _Campbell_ , do you?”

“You know him?” Hope swells in your breast.

And just as quickly, it’s dashed. Allen falters a moment. “If he’s who I’m thinking of, then… I’m afraid he passed away a few years ago. I’m sorry.”

“He… he can’t be.” Mana had been so full of life when you last saw him, laughing as he always did and showering everyone with far too much affection. There’s no way he could be gone too. The mug shakes in your hand, and Allen steadies it before you spill hot tea on yourself. “How did it happen?”

“An accident,” Allen says quietly. His expression is neutral, but you see sadness in his eyes. After a long moment, he meets your gaze. “Would I be prying if I asked how you knew him?”

“We grew up together. The Campbells lived in a big house just outside town, and the community being what it was, there weren’t a lot of kids our age so we kind of got grouped together.”

Link scribbles this down. “Did you know his brother?”

“Who, Nea?” What interest did the Order have in him? “Him and Mana were a matched set. Until we were older and Nea really started despising the whole twin thing, they were practically attached at the hip.” Come to think of it, that had been around the time he and Mana had hit puberty and you began nursing a crush. Before, he’d always joked about having to ‘share’ you with his brother, but after their voices cracked the first time (almost in unison, sending you and Mana into giggle fits), Nea left the pair of you alone more and more to pursue his own interests.

“So you did know the brother.”

“Might I ask why you’re so interested in him?”

Allen cuts in with, “It’s a bit of a long story, and it’s getting late.” He gives Link a look as he stands to go. “I’m sure Komui can fill you in in the morning.”

You don’t want to be alone yet. You catch his sleeve and say, “I don’t mind. We don’t have to talk about either of them if you don’t want to.”

Link closes the notepad and pockets his pen, signaling that his interrogation is over for now. Allen breathes a sigh of relief and settles back in his seat on the sofa opposite you. “I don’t mind talking about Mana,” he says. “I’m kind of curious about him, too, and well… if he’s what we have in common…”

You find yourself smiling into your cup. Even the way Allen talks reminds you a bit of your lost friend. “How did you know him?”

“He took me in when I was little.” Allen’s gaze is far away. “It wasn’t for that long, but he was the closest thing to family I ever had.”

That sounds just like him. He was always taking in stray cats or helping injured birds when you were kids, much to his mother’s consternation. You say, “And let me guess, he showered you with so much love and affection, you had no idea what to do with it.”

Allen just barely holds back a snort of laughter. “Too many hugs,” he agrees, and you find yourselves laughing too hard while Link looks on in mild confusion.

You chat a while longer, you offering more stories of your childhood with Mana than Allen does his own, but the more you share, the more something bothers you. “Did he ever mention me?” you ask. You had promised him a letter every week, and you can’t help but picture just how saddened he was when he never received a single one.

Allen stares thoughtfully into his empty mug. “I don’t think he ever did… He didn’t talk about his past much after… Oh! There was that one time he mentioned a girl, but I don’t think it was you. We were passing through someplace, and he saw a book in a shop window.” Allen closes his eyes to try and remember. “I think he said, ‘I wonder how Alice is doing,’ and I thought it was really weird because he never mentioned her again. I couldn’t read yet at the time, so I’m not sure if it was about a book or…” he trails off when you cover your mouth to suppress the mixture of laughter and sobs. “(Y/N)?”

You wave off his concern. “That was his nickname for me, Alice. I made up stories all the time when we were little, and as we got older, he decided I was like Alice in Wonderland.”

“But Alice was the reasonable one in a world of lunatics, wasn’t she?” Link says with a small frown. Allen stares at him like he spontaneously grew a second head, unable to comprehend someone so serious reading something so nonsensical, until you speak.

“Nea said the same thing,” you reply, smiling fondly at the memory. “Alice dreamt everything up, and I think that’s what Mana was trying to get at with the silly nickname. That I have a vibrant imagination.”

After that, you do your best to stay upbeat as you, Allen, and Link talk about nothing in particular. You only let the tears fall when you return to your own room.


	3. A Kindly, Naïve Sort

Your first mission went surprisingly well, all things considered. Marie and Chaoji did an excellent job keeping the Akuma away from you as you stayed behind the Cerberus you summoned. You may have taken a few creative liberties describing the great three-headed guardian of Hades, but by the end you decide the fire breath was a good choice for a dog and file it away for later.

The three of you are a little worse for wear as you make your way back to where you are to meet the Ark gate, but other than bumps and bruises, you’re relatively uninjured. Disappointed due to the lack of Innocence, but from what Marie tells you, that’s not uncommon. Akuma are everywhere, and the weaker ones can sometimes form packs.

As you pass through town, your eyes drift to the display in the bookshop’s window. “Do we have a little time before we’re supposed to meet the Ark?” you ask Chaoji. When he answers in the affirmative, you gesture to the window. “Would you mind if I picked something up?” It wasn’t enough to live the way you used to, but the Order does pay its exorcists well enough. There’s certainly enough to indulge in a few literary treasures.

“Go right ahead. Just don’t take too long.”

“Thanks!” You know exactly what you want. You scan the shelves for that old series you used to enjoy. The display had been of the latest book, but you’re certain there must be a few you missed while you slept. The Order’s library didn’t have them, but you don’t mind picking them up for yourself.

You find what you’re looking for, but it’s just out of reach on the top shelf. Even standing on tiptoe you can’t… quite… Your fingers brush against the cover…

A gloved hand slides it off the shelf for you. “Here you are, Miss.” The gentleman attached to that hand holds the book out to you. He smiles at the title. “Ah, this brings back memories. I had a friend years ago who loved this series.”

He seems like the friendly sort. “I’m surprised it’s still being published,” you reply conversationally. “The writer must be ancient by now.”

“Her daughter took over when the original authoress retired. I believe it was around…” his finger traces the spines, then stops a few books from the end of the row, “here. Still, it’s nice when series like these live on past their creator. My niece loves them.”

“You have a niece with very good taste.” You hear Chaoji call for you, and you give the gentleman a small curtsy. “Thank you so much for your help, but I must be going.”

“Of course. It was a delight meeting you, Miss (Y/N).” He tips his hat to you and leaves with his previous purchase.

You give a cheery wave, then pause. Wait, had you told him your name? You shrug and pay for your book. You must have at some point. How else would he know?

* * *

Your second mission does not go nearly so smoothly as the first. This time you’re paired with a Japanese man by the name of Yuu Kanda. Unlike Marie and Chaoji who kept an eye out for any Akuma that got too close to you for comfort, Kanda ignores you entirely in his mission to destroy as many as possible. Cerberus can only do so much for you against the onslaught, and very quickly you’re overpowered.

A blast sends you tumbling off the bridge you’d been defending into the rushing waters below. Cold knocks the breath from your lungs. Buffeted as you are by the current, you can’t tell which way is up to fight your way to the surface. Not even the sun, hidden by storm clouds as it is, can guide you out of the swollen river.

By sheer luck a fallen tree catches you, and you’re able to struggle to the surface. Air and water fill your mouth as you barely make it in time. The water still surges, still tries to drag you down, but you cling to the log. You claw for purchase in the slick slime that grows over the bark with numb fingers; every moment is one moment closer to you being pulled under once more to your death.

You hear a splash and see someone making their way out to you with a rope tied around their waist, the other end attached to the half-buried roots of the tree you cling to. Strong arms wrap around you; the rope is adjusted so that it encircles you as well.

“Hold on to me,” says the dark-haired man. “You’re safe now.”

Shivering, you cling to him like your life depends on it. Which it does. Hand over hand, he pulls you both back to shore, and when your feet touch slippery rocks, only then do you let relief wash over you. Your teeth chatter from oncoming hypothermia, but at least you don’t have to worry about drowning.

“We need to warm you up.” The man surveys the area, spots an abandoned fisherman’s hut, and scoops you up. The heavens open with a crack of thunder just as he carries you inside.

It’s dusty but dry as he sets you down hear an empty fireplace. He shrugs off his sodden coat to offer it to you for warmth but thinks better of it. Instead, he tells you to wait there as he goes in search of kindling. His search proves fruitful, for not long after seasoned logs clatter into the grate, and with a strike of a match, quickly catch.

He guides you closer to the hearth, then leaves once more. This search takes longer, but he returns with a musty-smelling quilt that he shakes out.

The gentleman hesitates, then says, “I hate to suggest this, but we should get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill.”

The fire is slower thawing your mind than your limbs. You nod, and he kneels before you to help you unfasten the black coat you wear. The material protected your undergarments, though you shudder in discomfort as he peels away the damp fabric of your coat, long skirt, and stockings. Your boots had been lost to the river somewhere along the way.

Once you’re free and wrapped in the quilt, he does the same for himself. He pauses after shrugging off his button down, hands on his belt, but when you continue to drowsily watch the fire and not him, he strips to nothing. Unlike your high-tech uniform, his clothes could not withstand drenching by flooded river.

He hangs your things and his near the fire to dry, and while they steam away, he settles beside you with the quilt tucked around you both. He’s warm, and instinctively you snuggle closer to the second heat source. Gently he guides you into his lap and wraps you up.

You doze tucked against his chest. For what could be minutes or hours, he cradles you against him, humming a tune that is achingly familiar. Your dreams are a confused jumble of past and present. Mana holds you tight, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and caressing you with intimate relish. Akuma chase you. Mana looks at you, confused and asking who you are. Mana, old enough to be your father, smiling as he always used to and welcoming you home with open arms.

Fingers thread softly through your hair, tenderly untangling the damp tresses. A soft voice whispers reassurances against the top of your head just barely audible over the crackle of burning logs and the rattle of old ill-fitting windows. Your eyes blink open, but it takes a moment for where you are and who you’re with to sink in.

Once the fog of sleep clears, however, you let out an ear-piercing shriek and scramble out of the stranger’s lap. He takes it in stride, asking if you’re warm enough rather than taking offense. You snatch at your damp uniform, but in your haste, you lose your balance on the uneven floorboards.

Before you can land in the hearth, arms encircle you and pull you back. “Careful,” he lightly scolds. “Relax, I won’t hurt you.”

He keeps the quilt around himself like a cloak, but you can see _very_ naked muscular legs peeking out from where the makeshift garment ends. Your face grows all the hotter when your jumbled thoughts consider the possibility that that’s _all_ he had on and that you’d been huddled under that quilt _in his lap_ this whole time in nothing but the scandalously short and thin slip the Order had provided you for under your uniform. A glance at where both your things and his hang by the fire confirms it for you.

You cross one arm over your chest and your other hand pulls at the hem of the slip as you will yourself to be more decent before this stranger. “W-who are you?” you stammer.

“Adam,” he replies, leading you a few steps from the fire so stray sparks won’t burn you. “I believe we met at the bookstore the other day. I got that book for you when you couldn’t reach it.”

Now that he mentions it, he does look familiar. But that was a long way from here on the other side of France. The question slips out before you can stop it, “Then why are you here?”

“I travel for business,” he replies. Adam sits on the floor and pats the bare wood next to him. You get a peek of bare chest when the quilt shifts with the motion, and heat floods your cheeks again. “I was helping a little girl in town look for her lost puppy when I spotted you in the river. I’m glad I decided to search a little longer or I might have missed you.” He pats the ground next to him again. “Sit. You must be chilled to the bone.”

For a few moments, you debate what to do, but another gust of wind sends the windows rattling and a draft makes you shiver. More and more, that quilt and this stranger look appealing, but to be so exposed with someone even more so…

Well, it’s not like he’d be ruining you for marriage even if he tried to pull something anyway. Not if the other women at the Black Order are anything to go by.

Still, you’re cautious as you sit where Adam indicated, and you avert your gaze when he throws the quilt around your shoulders as well. When he tries to pull you close again, it’s too much and you push against him. “That is highly inappropriate.”

His expression softens. “I’m sorry. I just worry you haven’t warmed up enough. You were close to hypothermia when I pulled you from the river.”

The storm continues to rage outside, and another draft sends you into renewed shivers. This time, you don’t fight it when he scoots a little closer, though it helps that he didn’t put his arm around you like before.

“Might I ask how you fell into that river?” he asks you once it’s clear you aren’t cold any longer.

“I’m an exorcist for the Black Order,” you explain, “and while we were fighting Akuma, I fell in.” He’s staring at you, eyes wide. You sigh. “I know, it sounds ridiculous.”

“Oh no, I believe you,” he quickly assures you. “I’ve seen exorcists fight Akuma before. It’s just you’re so _young_ that I’m concerned for your safety. And…” he trails off and returns to staring into the fire.

It’s obvious he wants to say something, and your aunt raised you well enough to know when your polite interference is necessary. “And?” you prompt.

“You look like someone I knew a long time ago.” His cheeks redden a little and he gives an abashed chuckle. “I think I called you by her name at that shop the other day, too. You must have been so confused when I did that.”

Your heart thunders in your chest. It can’t _possibly_ be true, and yet… “Who was she?”

“(Y/N)? Ah, she was a sweet girl.” He smiles as he tosses another log onto the fire, lost in memories of long ago. “She liked to tell stories and was a real beauty, just like you. I was mad about her, but I don’t think she ever felt the same way for me.” A small frown plays across his features. “Then it was like everyone forgot about her. Even her aunt had no idea who I was talking about. It was the strangest thing.”

You wrack your brain for the name _Adam_ but come up empty handed. He _remembers_ you though. Only one person was supposed to remember you. _Mana_. If you squint, you can see the similarities on the gaunt face. His eyes are the same shade that makes you think of their wheat field at sunset, his short hair has the same soft wave to it, and when he smiles, other similarities are even more pronounced.

“Adam, um… I know this is a strange question but… did you… I mean, have you ever gone by the name Mana Campbell?”

He’s clearly startled by your question. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

Of course. Allen said Mana had passed away a few years ago. “What about Nea?” you ask desperately.

“Not that name either.”

A secret admirer, then? But you can’t think of anyone else that would share any physiognomy with your childhood friends. They looked nothing like the other Campbells, and as far as you know, they had no cousins or secret siblings around their age. Perhaps you met someone at one of the balls you attended during a visit to the city? There were certainly enough handsome faces that you wouldn’t remember every person you saw…

“Is something the matter?” Fingertips brush your cheek. “You’re a little flushed.”

Again, he’s too close. You push away in a panic, but he catches you before you tumble free of the blanket huddle. Involuntarily, your eyes trace down from his face to his chest and to the mystery still blessedly hidden in shadows from the blanket. Your face is on fire and your mouth opens and closes a few times, but only a horrified squeak comes out.

Realizing what you’ve seen—or haven’t seen—Adam quickly readjusts your positions and the quilt so that anything objectionable is well and truly hidden. “My apologies,” he says, trying to laugh it off. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You bury your burning face in your hands. You are most certainly ruined for marriage now. No man would want you after getting so close to forbidden knowledge. …Best to not think about that. “Adam, how did we meet?”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m almost certain that I’m the girl you knew that everyone else forgot. I’m trying to figure out how we know each other.”

Adam’s mouth falls open. “Impossible,” he breathes, “and yet…” He brushes your hair out of your face, and again, he’s way too close. You fight the instinct to bolt and let him scrutinize your face. “Yes, you must be. How did this happen?”

“I… My pen,” you gesture to your clothes by the fire, where you can see the glint of your Innocence in the breast pocket. Even half-drowning, it seems you had the presence of mind to protect it and keep the cause of all your problems safe. “It can create things and make stuff happen. I wrote an outline for a silly fairy tale, and I put myself in a coma like Sleeping Beauty.”

“My word,” he gasps, and the expression on his face reminds you so much of Mana’s when he was wrapped up in one of your tales that it hurts. “How on Earth did you wake up? Did your true love find you like in the stories?”

You giggle. “No, nothing like that. It had a plot hole a mile wide that one of the exorcists at the Order managed to exploit. He was a clown, and I guess I didn’t make clear that the love interest and the clown were supposed to be the same person.”

Adam chuckles. “I suppose it’s a good thing. If you were still asleep, I wouldn’t have been able to bump into you like this.”

“I wish we hadn’t bumped into each other like _this,_ ” you sigh. Clothing would have been far preferable.

Another chuckle slips out. “Nearly drowning does put a bit of damper on one’s mood, doesn’t it?”

Not that there was much _mood_ to put a damper on. You both watch the flickering flames for a while as a comfortable silence descends. The storm rages outside, slowly ruining any hope you had of going to find Kanda any time tonight. Absently, you add another log to the fire.

Like a little kid, Adam’s head begins to nod as he struggles to stay awake. It’s hard to say what time it is, but the hour must be getting late. Your things are still wet, else you’d suggest leaving the quilt to him while you make do with your uniform’s coat.

You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to sleep like this. He hasn’t tried to pull anything. Not on purpose, at least. You’re pretty sure. He’s friendly and clueless in the same way Mana was, that’s all.

“If you’re tired, we can go to sleep,” you suggest. “It doesn’t look like the rain’s going to let up any time soon.”

“No, no, it’s quite all right. I’m sure—” he stifles a yawn, “—you’re eager to leave as soon as you can.”

“Even if the rain stops now, it’s too dark to travel safely after all that. We’ll be here until morning no matter what.”

He nods. “Then if you’re comfortable with it…”

You’re not, but you say anyway, “It’s fine.”

You lay back-to-back beneath the quilt. Adam wishes you a good night, but even when his breathing evens in sleep, it takes you a long while to follow his lead.

* * *

Morning dawns clear and bright. The fire has long since gone out, leaving the room chilly. You curl up a little more under the threadbare quilt. An arm wraps around you and pulls you tight against a solid warmth behind you. Adam nuzzles your hair in his sleep.

This wouldn’t be as big a concern as it is but for something hard brushing against you when his clinging evolves into a full-body hug with a leg finding its way around you too. Your whole body tenses as your brain desperately searches for any possibility it could be _besides_ what you don’t want it to be. Sadly, the knowledge that he went to sleep in his birthday suit eliminates any other possible culprits. He can’t have a pen in his pocket if there _are_ no pockets, after all.

“L-let me go!” you cry as you attempt to squirm free.

He just koala-hugs you all the more tightly, pressing that protruding _something_ against you even more. A small, contented sigh escapes him, and to your horror, that something seems to get a little larger as he shifts.

You finally break free and bolt for the far end of the room. Adam pushes himself up in confusion, rubbing his eyes as he takes in your crimson cheeks. “Is something the matter?”

He follows your gaze to his lap, where _thank God_ the bundle of fraying patchwork piled there hides the offending appendage even if the pooled fabric does little to conceal the rest of him. As soon as he realizes, he hurriedly changes the way he’s sitting and adjusts his fabric cocoon to keep as little of him visible as possible for you.

“I’m never getting married now,” you half-sob in embarrassment, burying your face in your hands. You slide slowly down the wall and land with a soft thump on the floor.

There’s a rustle of fabric and the shuffle of footsteps. He says your name quietly, but you shake your head. “Look at me?” You splay your fingers just a bit to peek through them. He kneels before you, amber eyes kind as he says, “You did nothing wrong. This was simply a bodily function neither of us have control over, and what matters is that we didn’t do anything because of it.”

You mumble something into your hands to the effect of, “My aunt would still kill me,” as you hide your face and shake your head again.

“Whatever for?” his voice stays gentle. “My dear, you were practically frozen last night. There’s nothing wrong with doing what it takes to stay alive, and with how cold and damp it was, it was only logical—”

“Logic has nothing to do with it!” you cry, at last letting your hands drop. It’s bad enough you were alone with a man and had zero supervision—not even your adorably irritating golem from the Order—but now if anyone asked if you’d had intimate contact, you would have to tell them about _this_. You’d _felt_ it, and not only that, it had _gotten bigger_ from touching you. “I’m ruined for life.”

He keeps up the coaxing. “If something like that ruined a girl, there would be quite a few more spinsters all over the world.” Gently, as if handling an injured animal, Adam strokes your cheek. “Accidents happen, and as far as accidents go, this is a very minor one.

“And truth be told,” he adds, beaming so brightly that it’s almost blinding, “I’ve never understood keeping these matters a secret anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you grumble. “Men can play the field, but,” and here you adopt your impression of your aunt’s voice (you love her dearly, but lecturing was the woman’s passion), “‘Ladies must not know men before their wedding nights. Husbands want innocence, not harlots.’”

Adam laughs jovially as he sits beside you, and you find you can’t stop the smile touching your lips at the praise in his next words. “That sounds just like your aunt. Ah, though,” he adopts a more serious tone, “I think I would prefer a young lady who has some knowledge on the subject. I’d hate to frighten a girl on her wedding night, and the human body is such a funny thing.”

You gape at him a moment, then rest your chin in your hands with a sigh. “Not everyone thinks like that. It doesn’t matter much anyway. It’s not like I can get married.”

Concern crosses his features. “Surely not because of this?”

“No, no, not because of this.” The only folks at the Order who had tied the knot are in the sections that see no action and only with others in the Order. Either due to the nature of the job or rules, none of the exorcists have so much as expressed a desire to _date_ within earshot of you, let alone marry. “There are… well, I guess rules about that.”

He hums to himself. “What if I asked you to marry me?”

Again, you gape at him. “I just said—”

“I know, but I have some sway in the world. Lovesick fool that I am, I might be able to pull some strings. If you’d have me, I would be honored.”

Before you can answer, a light tapping sounds at the window. Your golem has tracked you down at last, and it looks a little worse for wear from the storm. The poor thing must have been out all night. You open the door, and in it zips.

Its speaker crackles, and you hear Kanda, gruff as ever, “Are you alive?”

“No thanks to you,” you reply curtly.

He ignores the petty jibe. “I’m heading to your location. Be ready to return to Headquarters once I get there.”

“All right. Thanks.”

During that brief conversation, Adam slipped away into a back room with his things. As the golem goes silent, he steps back out in his pants and hastily buttoned shirt. His coat drapes over one arm, and his shoes are in the other hand. “I’m afraid I must be going,” he says as he slips the shoes on his feet. “Please consider my offer.”

Why is he in such a hurry? “I’m afraid I can’t. Like I said, I think there are rules about—”

He silences you with a kiss. His lips are soft and warm against yours, and you find that you can’t help but lean into the sensation. It’s short-lived, however, and with one more kiss pressed to your forehead, he heads for the door. He tips his hat to you, and then is gone.

Later, when you’ve returned to your room at Headquarters after reporting in, a card slips out of your uniform pocket. Scribbled on it is an address, and you find yourself smiling at the visiting card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mana/Adam/The Earl finally makes his appearance. This should be interesting :3


	4. The Consideration It's Due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter, and at long last, some smut :) It was kind of fun writing an awkward turtle Reader lol

Emilia set her cup down with such force, it made the rest of the dishes rattle. “He proposed to you?!”

“Shh! Not so loud!”

You’re hosting a girls’ tea in your room with Emilia and Lenalee. Still, you never know who might wander by, and until you know how the Order stands on relationships, you’d rather it stay just between the three of you. You wouldn’t have asked them at all but for the fact you want to give the offer the consideration it deserves, and to do that, you need advice.

The tutor coughs lightly to reign in her shock and picks up her cup again. “What kind of guy proposes to you after something like that? That’s just weird!”

“But he knew (Y/N) from before.” Lenalee flips the page in the notebook Mana had given you years ago. You’d taken to writing short stories in your free time (without a magic pen this time), and much like your late friend, she has fallen in love with your writing. Though her tastes veer far more into the fairy tale romance than his did. “Maybe he was just happy to finally find you.”

“This reeks of a setup,” Emilia protests. “I’ve heard plenty of stories of young heiresses trapped in awful marriages because some man lured them into a compromising situation, and that’s if they’re lucky. Sometimes the perp will marry and murder them for the insurance payout.”

Lenalee lowers your book. “I don’t think that happens as often as you think. And besides, he left before anyone saw them together.” Now that she says it, maybe _that’s_ why he was in such a hurry to go.

“It was just a coincidence he was there at all,” you add. “A little girl lost her dog, and he was helping her look where it wasn’t safe.”

“That’s so sweet!” Emilia squeals in an abrubt about face. Then realizing she’s getting too loud, she coughs again to compose herself. “But that still doesn’t excuse what happened. What he did was highly inappropriate, and to propose after is still so weird.”

“Maybe he was trying to make it up to me?” you suggest. “I did kind of say I couldn’t get married after that.” And that thought kind of hurts. You don’t want to guilt anyone into doing anything. Certainly not marriage.

Emilia contemplates this a moment. “Doesn’t stop a lot of cads from running off, but if he’s willing to look for lost puppies and rescue damsels from rivers, maybe that _is_ all it was.” She sips her tea, then asks, “What do you plan to do about it?”

“Do?” you repeat.

“Well, are you going to accept his proposal?”

“I don’t…” You look to Lenalee for help. “Is that sort of thing even allowed?”

Your fellow exorcist pours herself a little more tea. “Well, it’s not that it’s _not_ allowed,” she says slowly, “but it’s not easy either. There are a lot of hoops to jump through. Paperwork, background checks… Especially since you’re an exorcist and he’s not a member of the Order.”

That’s… better than you expected. You’d been convinced there was a total moratorium on relationships. “So I should talk with Komui about this?”

“I wouldn’t go that far yet.” Lenalee stares thoughtfully into her oolong. “Relationships are okay so long as it doesn’t interfere with your work, so maybe you should go on a few dates and make sure he’s worth the effort first. Oh, but you need to be careful, too,” she adds hastily. “There’s always the chance he could become an Akuma or work for the Millennium Earl.”

“So we’re back to the setup theory,” you sigh.

Emilia frowns. “But like you said before, he’d have done something that night if that was his goal, wouldn’t he?”

Lenalee nods. “That’s why I’m not too worried, but… I want you to be careful, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

* * *

The third time you planned to meet with Adam Millen, it’s after a particularly vexing mission. There’d been reports of Innocence, but when you arrive, nothing but Akuma are there to greet you. Akuma, and the infamous Millennium Earl. He’s a cheerful fat man who takes great interest in the creations of your pen. Interest in destroying them, that is. He lames your Cerberus, clips the wings of your Phoenix, and grabs your wrist and nearly yanks your arm out of its socket to force your pen from the page.

“Ah, you’re quite cute when you’re scared~” he coos. He seems surprised when you kick him in the shin. “Feisty, aren’t we~?”

Only Lenalee nearly landing a devastating blow makes him release you. He sidesteps the meteoric kick and skips a few steps away. The Earl gives a jolly chuckle and snaps open his pumpkin-headed umbrella. “Enough of this~” he croons. “I have places to be and people to see~”

With that, he’s gone, but the rest of the Akuma aren’t. You scribble out your Cerberus and Phoenix and resummon them, but without the Earl around it’s almost like the Akuma give up. They’re too easy to take down even for Level 2s.

But hey, it means you’re not late for your date. It was a bit last minute, a case of you realizing you would both be in the same place at the same time from the letters you exchanged (abusing your Innocence for speed of delivery by creating teleporting stamps, but what the Order doesn’t know won’t hurt them).

“I’m sorry, you weren’t waiting long, were you?” you ask as you duck into the little café Adam suggested as your meeting place.

“Not at all. I just got here myself. I haven’t even ordered our tea yet.” He offers you the little menu of scones and sandwiches to peruse. “I hope everything went well?”

You don’t want to talk about your job. “It worked out in the end. No one was hurt, and that’s all I can ask for. How about you? Is work going well for you?”

“Fabulously~”

He waves over the waiter, and once your orders are placed, he returns his attention to you. “Have you considered my offer?”

Straight to business. “A little… It sounds like it will be a bit of a hassle for anything official, so I thought we could meet a few times and make sure I’m worth the trouble.”

Adam places his hand over yours. “You’ll always be worth the trouble.”

“You hardly know me!”

His lips brush against yours. “We’ve known each other most of our lives.” Adam pauses thoughtfully, then chuckles. “Well, your life. I waited a long time to see you again.”

Blushing furiously, you stare around to find who might have seen this latest bit of affection, but no one pays either of you the least bit of mind. There are quite a few couples doing far more than chaste pecks on the lips.

“Well, I’d like to get to know you better first. It’s… I mean, you remember me, so that’s… that’s already a good sign but…”

He nods his understanding. “Then if you’re agreeable, how about we have lunch and go for a stroll later?”

Lunch goes well, as does your walk. You talk about all sorts of things, from favorite foods to books he hadn’t read in years but remembers fondly to the stories you were weaving these days. Your work was never mentioned, and when you asked politely about his, he says, “Another time, my dear. I’d much rather enjoy your company than discuss business.” As has become his way of doing things, he gives you a loving peck on the cheek and makes you blush once again.

You continue to see each other as much as you can, and though it’s become an open secret of sorts at the Order that a gentleman is courting you, no one seems to care enough to tell you to stop. Even Link, who is just shy of open disapproval, only makes a single comment that you should ‘go through the appropriate channels for approval.’

It’s on the eve of your eighth date that things go tragically awry. The Earl appears, a grinning maniac with a top hat and umbrella as always. You beat him back best as you can, Chaoji pummeling his Akuma while Krory tries to keep the man away from you and the Innocence you protect.

The madman evades the streak of Krory’s ruby-red claws and with a playful swing of his umbrella, sends Krory flying into a nearby building. Chaoji he dodges and trips by hooking the crook-end of his golem around his ankle and pulling. Then his focus changes to you.

He leaps forward, batting away your hellhounds like they’re mere puppies and catching you up as a dancer might their partner. He even gives you a little twirl, lifting you off your feet and then dipping you. You blanch as he nips the lobe of your ear with those demonic teeth. “I hate to have to do this, my dear,” he purrs as he leers down at you, “but it’s for your own good~” His grip changes, a gloved hand catching your wrist.

The pain is immediate as he snaps your wrist. You scream and lash out at him, but he holds you firmly against his squishy belly until the throes of pain die down to whimpers. The Millennium Earl is surprisingly gentle as he sets you down, cooing softly and gently. Like had hadn’t just broken your writing hand and instead is only helping a child who’d tripped and skinned their knee.

His eyes fall on your pen. You snatch it with your good hand and hold it close to your heart, glaring. The Earl heaves a sigh and reaches past you to the bejeweled statue you had been guarding, to the Innocence.

You let out a battle cry, and one of your hellhounds launches at the Earl. He spins and slams the pumpkin head down onto the beast. Another and another join the fray, and though they aren’t strong enough to defeat the monster, they’re enough to provide a distraction. You bearhug the statuette and despite the broken wrist, you make off with it.

The Earl raises a hand to stop you, but Krory is back and fights even harder. The Noah family patriarch leaps back. Beady golden eyes survey the situation from behind his spectacles, then he says, “Enjoy your little win, my pretty. You are quite the resourceful little minx.” He twirls his umbrella, and with a flourish, vanishes in a rain of your favorite flowers. ~~~~

* * *

You cradle your wrist as you watch the scenery. Children play in the streets as they so often do without a care in the world nor knowledge of the Order’s base of operations nearby. You envy them. Even with your temporary leave, you can’t go anywhere other than into town, and you can’t exactly enjoy your ‘vacation’ after what you’d experienced. ~~~~

You’d never liked the fighting, but to have stared death in the face leaves you beyond numb. Even now, knowing that this whole area was surrounded with enough wards that an exorcist would come running in seconds should an Akuma breach its perimeter did nothing to help your frayed nerves.

Only a pair of tan shoes entering your line of sight and the accompanying voice broke through the numbness of fear. “(Y/N)? Whatever are you doing here?”

Your head shoots up, and your greeted by the same honey colored eyes you’d seen only a few weeks ago, the brows above them creased with concern. “And you’re wrist! Whatever happened?” He reaches out a hand, pauses a moment as if to reconsider the idea, then gently takes your casted arm. “This must have hurt terribly.”

“It did,” you reply without thinking, then bite your lip. “I mean, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s quite all right,” he says, smiling as he takes a seat on the bench next to you. “I broke my arm once falling out of a tree when I was little, and my family never let me live down what a sourpuss I was about it.” He cups your cheek and leans in for his usual affectionate kiss.

You return it with a half-hearted fervor that makes him pull back prematurely. “Ah, I apologize. I’m sure you aren’t in the mood for that sort of thing.”

“No,” you say quickly. He was worried about you, and here you are just returning his ‘sweetness’ with ‘sour’. “I… We’re near my work, and—”

Adam nods in understanding. “Shall we go someplace a little quieter?” he offers. “Or…would that make you uncomfortable?”

Heat reddens your cheeks. “I… that is…” Part of you hesitates, but a greater part wants nothing more than to go ‘someplace quieter’ with him and forget your worries. It’s easy with the ever-cheerful Adam to pretend there isn’t some shadow war between exorcists and Akuma, and maybe…

…Maybe doing some of the things you know you shouldn’t will make you feel better. You may never get a second chance.

You meet Adam’s gaze and lean forward for a soft kiss. “Where were you thinking?”

His eyes widen a little at your attempt at sultry, and his own cheeks redden to match yours. “If you wish it,” he says, keeping his voice low and tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, “I have a hotel room not far from here.”

He guides you through the city to his hotel, then sneaks you up the stairs when the man at the front desk has his back turned. It’s a snazzy, luxurious place that recently opened, and his room is the penthouse itself. You’d known Adam had money, but you hadn’t realized how much until he offers you a cup of the finest tea from the fully stocked kitchenette or a bath in the Taj Mahal of bathrooms.

You blush furiously. “D-do people… I mean, do they usually…” You can’t get the words to come out right.

He tilts your chin up and brushes his lips against yours. “There’s no need to be shy, my dear. It’s all about you today. Tell me what you want to do, and I’ll—”

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you blurt out. And you don’t. The most your aunt would tell you on the subject was that men had ‘snakes’ that sought out women’s ‘gardens’ to plant their ‘seed’ Whenever you pressed for more details, she’d just say that your future husband would explain.

Adam nods. “Then we’ll take it slow, and you can stop me if something makes you uncomfortable.”

All of this would make you uncomfortable, but you go with him to the bed rather than say so. He sits you down and kisses you. Kisses lead to hugs. So far, it’s gestures and affections your used to, just with an edge of something more at the corners as his hands wander. He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling lightly until with a gasp, you bare your neck, and he nibbles and sucks at the flesh he finds. His other hand slips down to your breast to grope and rub.

Already it’s becoming too much, but before you can stop him, his lips engulf yours in a searing kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth to explore, and you’re frozen somewhere between too surprised to push back and giving into the buzzing that pleasantly fills your skull.

His weight on the bed shifts, and you tumble back onto the covers. You pant for air as he straddles you, pulling off his tie and undoing his waistcoat buttons in record time. “Y-You’re not going to… to strip, are you?”

He pauses a moment before dropping the vest to the side. “If this is as far as you want me to undress, then I’ll do no more.” He kisses your forehead lightly, then gazes lovingly at you. “Would you like to remove a few layers yourself?”

“Do I have too?” you squeak.

Adam kisses you again, then lets his lips stray to your ear. “It would be far more enjoyable for the both of us, I think.”

The warm breath makes you shiver, and you hesitantly unbutton your blouse. He helps you shrug it off and gives you an encouraging smile when you unzip your skirt. Soon, you’re in nothing but the slip and the pair of shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Adam saw you this way before back when you nearly drowned, but the way he looks at you now, with a hungry gleam in his eyes, makes you fidget.

“Just look at you. You’re beautiful,” he croons as he cups your cheek and brushes a thumb under your eye. “I hardly know what to do when I see you this way.”

You avert your eyes. “Sorry. I mean, um, thanks? Er…”

His lips are on yours again, kissing away your awkwardness. At least, until it also muffles the gasp of protest when his hand slips under the hem of your clothes to palm your breast directly. They’re surprisingly calloused, and the rough handling makes you squirm and your nipple perk. His other arm wraps around you and pulls you up off the bed and into his lap, where you feel a swelling bump beneath you as straddle him.

You squirm in his arms as his lips find the hollow of your throat and suck a little bruise for the world to see. The bulge in his pants rubs you through your shorts and you gasp as your legs tighten around his hips, though you’re not sure if it’s your body’s attempt to bring you both closer or to stop the way he tugs at you to grind harder.

There’s a pressure welling within you now, too, one that leaves a pleasant prickling along your skin. It builds the more you rock against him, and the way he’s kissing your throat, your jaw, your lips, his tongue darting into your mouth to explore…

You’re giddy and find that even as a writer, you can’t think about more than the immediate stray words to describe the sensations. Half of them are just _sounds_ , panting and soft moans and whines as the fingers of your uncasted hand dig into his shoulders for purchase as you begin moving in earnest.

Adam’s face scrunches a little, and he stills your hips. “My dear,” he murmurs, “if you keep this up, I’m not sure I’ll be content to stop with just this.”

So lost had you been in your own pleasure, you’d forgotten about how _wrong_ this was. In a panic, you practically jump out of his lap, but your legs don’t want to move right, and you fall backward onto the bed with a small cry. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s quite all right, but may I make a suggestion?” He follows you down. His weight presses into you, and that delightful knot in your core grows just a little tighter when his clothed erection rubs you just so. “I understand if you don’t want to go all the way, but perhaps a little farther would be all right?”

“H-how much farther?”

He fiddles with the hem of your slip. “I would love to look upon you, my dear, and maybe touch you a little more intimately?”

Your face is on fire as the newly freed horny little vixen in you happily complies with the request. You shrug off the slip and quickly peel off your shorts and panties in one motion. Shyness returns as he drinks in your body, especially when that sunset-colored gaze lingers on your dripping pussy.

He leans forward, kisses you, then adjusts your position as he scoops you up so that your back is against his chest and his hands are on your thighs, spreading you for him. With a jolt, you realize he’s faced you both toward the full-length mirror on the far side of the room so you can watch as his hand traces up your leg.

His fingers find your most sensitive area, and you gasp as they play with the one place your aunt had told you never to touch yourself. Watching makes it all the more intense as you see the fluttering of your lower lips. “Oh! _Nngh_ , no…! Adam!” Your insides clench, and it feels like you’re so close to _something_ that you can’t think.

Adam pauses in his ministrations, though his fingers stay right where they are. “Do you not like that?” Quickly you shake your head and hide your face. “Is it too much?” You nod, hot face still hidden. He kisses the side of your neck, and his fingers slide away from that sensitive nub to your folds. “Is this better?” he asks as he finds the slickest place and rubs without entering. A lewd sound fills the air, and your hands drop to his to still him. At least, that was what you had wanted to do, but you find yourself pressing his hand harder against you. It’s too much as a digit slips inside and curls. More slick sounds as he slides it in and out, faster and faster as you writhe and moan and watch him do it in the mirror through half-lidded eyes. Too much, too much, too much—

And then the knot inside you releases. You cry out and throw your head back against Adam’s shoulder as euphoria washes over you. He kisses your cheek as his nimble fingers keep rubbing and pinching and playing in a way that keeps the pleasure coming until you can’t see straight and can only shudder and moan in his arms.

“I take it that you enjoyed this?” he asks when at last you go limp against him.

You swallow and nod, unable to speak. If that’s what it felt like with just his hands, you can’t imagine what further intimacy would be like. The small stretch from his finger alone—

You stiffen then. Did this count as going too far? He hadn’t put his ‘snake’ in you, but perhaps this alone would be enough to permanently damage you…

“Adam…” you whine, turning your head to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Did I go to far?” At last his digit slides out, and you already miss that little bit of pressure.

“I’m not… I mean, am I still… intact? Can people tell—”

“No one can tell. Even if we went all the way, no one would be able to tell after a few days. It’s an old wives’ tale.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and snuggle against him. He kisses the top of your head and helps you lay on the bed with him. He still pets you in your most private place, drawing out the frayed ends of pleasure just a little longer though the intensity has faded to a dull, wanting ache.

After a few minutes, you shift and shyly touch the bulge in his pants. “What about you?” you hazard to ask.

“I will be fine, my dear.”

“But… um… this has to be awkward.”

“I told you before, didn’t I? Today is all about you. I can take care of myself later once I see you safely home.”

But surely there’s something you can do for _him_ without going all the way. And you have to admit, you’re curious what a ‘snake’ looks like. “Can I touch you?”

He smiles indulgently. “Of course.”

The sound of him undoing his belt and opening his pants is too loud in your ears as you watch him free his length. It’s… not what you anticipated. Bigger, perhaps, certainly longer than it felt when you’d been in his lap and girthier, but when your aunt had said a snake, you’d pictured exactly that. This, other than being long, doesn’t look the least like one.

Adam chortles affectionately at your confusion as he takes your hand. “Not what you were imagining?” He wraps your palm around him, and you plush furiously.

“N-no,” you stammer. It throbs in your grip, and you snatch your hand back like you’d been bitten. Perhaps snake _was_ an apt description. It certainly feels alive. “Um…” You swallow nervously and grasp him again. “H-how would this fit inside… inside me?” One finger had felt like all you could take, and this was far thicker.

He shows you how to stroke him and lets out a contented sigh as you obey his instructions. Again, he twitches in your grasp. “When you get excited, you stretch,” he explains patiently. “It might hurt a little at first, but your body would get used to it.”

There was no way that would work, you think. Stroking him, it feels like he’s getting bigger. Harder, certainly, especially when he shows you to run your thumb along the slit at the tip to collect the white beginning to leak there.

Adam moves your hand faster, and with a teasing smile, says, “Would you like a taste?”

Taste? Like… “You want me to… put it in my mouth?”

“Some enjoy it. I know I enjoy when it’s done to me. Oh, but you don’t have to,” he adds when you eye his length in mild disgust. He kisses your brow. “I got a little caught up in the moment.” He advises, “Give it a little more pressure when you— _mmm,_ yes, just like that.”

You blush at the praise and the way he throbs in your grip. A little more liquid drips from the tip, and you swipe it with your thumb. You give him another squeeze and jerk your hand a little more quickly. It gives a twitch, and you can’t look away as hot white seed spurts onto the covers. A little splashes your thigh. You scramble back, blushing and somewhere between horrified and fascinated. “What’s—”

Adam leans forward and kisses you. As before, his tongue slips into your mouth and coaxes yours to meet his. You squirm as he palms your pussy again, rubbing gently but insistently that sensitive nub until you pant against his lips and cling to him. His finger slips inside again, thrusting lightly in and out, and his other hand tangles in your hair to bring your mouths even closer as he pushes another finger in.

The release is quicker this time though no less intense, and you groan into his mouth as you climax. Your insides clench around him, and for a moment you aren’t sure if you’re trying to push him out or draw him in deeper. It’s likely the latter, you think, as he curls his fingers to draw another gasp from your lips.

“How did you like that? Everything you hoped for?”

 _And more,_ you think, but you’d die of embarrassment if you said it aloud. Instead, you let him wrap you up in his arms and kiss you deeply. “Um… I know this will sound like a silly question but… I… I won’t get… get with child like this, will I?”

It’s a stray thought you _know_ you should have had before asking any of this of Adam, but your mind had been on other things, like wanting to know a man before an Akuma inevitably killed you off and later wanting that building pressure to release. Now that your head had cleared…

“It’s not a silly question, and the answer is you won’t.” He rubs your back until he feels you begin to relax again. “Did your aunt not tell you any of this?”

You grimace a little. “She wouldn’t tell me anything and said it was up to my future husband to decide how much I should know.”

“A little shortsighted, but it is what it is.” He kneads your shoulders, and the knot that had been sitting behind your shoulder blade releases at long last. You sigh and snuggle closer to him. “Would you like to know a little more? Or would that kill the mood?”

You aren’t sure how much of a mood there is to kill, but you would rather know for next time. “Tell me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

A light chuckle accompanies the teasing, “I’m sure we don’t have enough time for all that, though I would love to give you a hands-on explanation.” He keeps it short, though, and not hands-on. You blush even though he stays clinical and vague in his descriptions.

“S-so,” you stammer, “if that… um… from your… if that was inside me…”

“That’s what might get you with child, but,” and he slides a hand along your side and then pulls you closer, “it’s no guarantee, and if you are careful about timing, you can make love without that happening.”

You blush furiously again and hide your face in his chest. “Auntie would come back from the grave to murder me if I did that.”

“And we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He kisses the top of your head. He plays with a lock of your hair a moment, then says, “I must sound like a broken record at this point, but have you considered my offer? I hate the expression, but I would like to make an honest woman of you now that you know things your aunt would disapprove of.”

You laugh. “I think I would like that.” Whenever you’re with Adam, you can forget about being an exorcist, and having that be a permanent arrangement is everything you would want and more.

Now it’s just a matter of talking with Komui about what needs to be done. Paperwork is your least favorite kind of writing, but for Adam, you would suffer through dozens of stacks.


	5. Husband and Wife

“I’m afraid your request has been denied.”

“What do you mean, 'denied'?”

Komui sets down the paperwork you, Lenalee, and Emilia had all worked together to fill out. It had been a monumental task and had still taken a few days for you to accomplish. You’d handed it in less than a week ago. There was no way Central could have reviewed it that quickly. You scan through the documents, but there aren’t any marks other than the big stamp on the front page.

“I’m afraid that we’re short on personnel, particularly exorcists. Central is denying all of this sort of requests as soon as they come in.” He shoots a look at his secretary, but Bridget pretends not to notice as she places another stack of forms before him to look over. “I’ll see if I can convince them otherwise, but…” He shifts a little uncomfortably. “Even if they approve your marriage, it will be unlikely they’ll approve any other… er… typical post-marriage things like children.”

Confused, you say, “I’m not interested in children yet.”

Komui clears his throat and looks to Bridget for help. The woman explains for him, “Other activities require permission as well, including those that may result in children.”

Your mouth falls open, and your face heats up. Even _that_ requires explicit permission? You wish the floor could swallow you up. Of course it would. Children would complicate everything. There was no way they would allow you, a female exorcist, to do that.

Bridget takes the paperwork from you. “Now that you understand the situation,” she says, though her clipped tone has softened a little, “please inform your beau as well. This…” she consults the paperwork briefly, “Adam Millen sounds like a lovely fellow. I’m sorry that the timing hasn’t worked out for you.”

You return to your room and fall face-first onto your bed. Your groan of frustration is muffled in your pillow, but it still seems to summon just the people you would want to talk to because no sooner is it uttered then there’s a knock at the door. You raise your head just enough to call, “It’s open,” before letting your face drop once more into the fluffy bedding.

Emilia hesitates in the doorway, then sits by you on the mattress. “I heard from Lenalee. Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.”

“This is horrible,” she gripes. “They’re standing between you and true love, and they won’t even bother to give that application the consideration it deserves!”

“It is what it is,” you say sullenly. “Heck, even if they _had_ approved it, it’s not like we’d be more than husband and wife on paper.”

Emilia looks positively scandalized. “They won’t even allow _that_?”

“Nope. Bridget says anything like that requires permission, and that would get rejected.”

“Ugh, stupid bureaucracy.” Emilia crosses her arms. “What are you going to do now?”

“I have to write Adam and let him know that we can’t get married. Komui said he’s going to push it a little longer, but I think they’re going to have me call it off.”

“What if you two tie the knot and ask permission later?”

“The Order’s run by the Church. They could probably annul it.”

“Then… get hitched and do whatever you want before they can do that?”

“That’s a terrible idea!”

“What do you have to lose? Other than the obvious.”

You groan and bury your face in the pillow again. “Emilia, I can’t tell if you’re awful or a genius.”

Even so, you dally for a long time before you write to Adam. Partially because you don’t know what to say, and partially because you don’t want anyone to write this for you. A few more weeks pass before the cast is removed, and it’s barely off your wrist before you’re sent on another mission with Kanda.

It’s a rough first mission back, and for one that didn't pertain to Innocence, there’s a staggering number of Akuma. Bullet after bullet rain down upon you, and you’re glad you had the foresight to write yourself a knight with a large shield to protect you since Kanda is about as good at blocking the shots fired your way as he was last time.

This time it looks bad for both of you, though. Your dragon chomps one Akuma after another, but it seems like for each one you and Kanda slay, two more take their place. You’re getting mobbed, and if things don’t change soon…

 _Crunch_. Kanda is thrown with such force into the ground by a Level 3 that you can hear his ribs break from here. It laughs and pummels harder, making a dent in the ground. You put pen to paper, and though you know it isn’t wise for you to summon more than two medium-sized creatures at the same time, you bring forth your Phoenix.

With a shriek, it catches up the Akuma by the arm, hauling it from Kanda and crushing it in its beak. You breathe a sigh of relief as the other Akuma back away, but it doesn’t last long as already the third creature catches up to you. Hesitantly, you cross off your damaged dragon and instead give your guardian a sword. It too charges into battle, and while the dwindling number of Akuma are busy, you hurry to Kanda’s side.

The samurai coughs blood, and you hope he just bit his lip and that it isn’t a sign of internal bleeding. Not only that, there’s a muddy puddle of red forming slowly under him. You staunch the wound on the side of Kanda’s head with your uniform jacket and pray that the knight and Phoenix will be enough.

They fall one by one to your knight’s blade and your Phoenix’s flames. Agonizing minute after agonizing minute ticks by, but at last, the last one is burnt to a crisp. The Finder calls for assistance, and numbly, you join them at the hospital. Kanda is in critical condition, and though you know it won’t stick—injuries never do with this man—you know neither of you will be going anywhere for the next few days.

You stay at the hospital for the night for observation for your comparatively minor injuries, and by morning, the Finder has arranged a hotel room for you next door to stay in until Kanda recovers enough to return to Headquarters via the Ark. You don’t plan on leaving until the same Finder suggests you visit the little restaurant on the first floor with a twinkle in her eye. She’s a nice woman, one who has survived her line of work long enough to have developed a sense of humor about it. If she suggests it, you decide to go along with it.

You were expecting good food or fancy cocktails she would help you expense to the Order after the days you’ve had. What you _weren’t_ expecting was to spy Adam chatting with an older gentleman and refusing the bottle of wine his companion seemed determined to thrust upon him. Eyes twinkling, he turns toward their waiter, spots you over his shoulder, and stiffens. Apparently, he was expecting you to appear even less than you had him.

Quickly he excuses himself from his red-faced companion. The man looks your way, laughs, and slaps his back. You’ve never been good at reading lips, but you’re pretty sure he says, “Go get ‘er, Tiger!”

Whatever it was, it was enough to make him blush as he hurried to your side. “(Y/N)! Whatever are you doing here?”

“Work,” you reply vaguely. You don’t want to go into it with how injured Kanda was or just how close the Akuma had come to killing you. “We’ll be in town for a few more days. What about you?”

“It’s the same for me. If I had realized your cast was off, I’d have written to let you know.” He smiles brightly. “We could have arranged a proper date.”

Your heart sinks a little. “About that…” From the corner of your eye, you see your Finder friend give you an encouraging wave. She hadn’t heard your disappointing news either. Or (and you dismiss the thought as soon as you have it) she knows and wants you do as you please.

He needs to know even if you don’t want to tell him. “They… I’m afraid I was told we can’t get married.”

His face falls. “I see. So does that mean you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“No, I want to keep seeing you. It’s just… I don’t want you getting your hopes up.”

A finger tilts your chin up, and warm lips find yours in the briefest of kisses. Adam smiles softly. “If it’s you,” he jokes, “I will always keep my hopes up.” He offers you his arm. “Shall I treat you to dinner, my dear?”

First, however, Adam takes you shopping. He insists upon buying you a lovely evening gown in silks of your favorite color, and when he takes you to a five-star restaurant, you suddenly understand why. You fidget nervously as they find Adam a table with ease, likely throwing away someone else’s reservation to give you the best seat in the house.

When the sommelier stops by with their finest vintage, you hear him say, “It’s an honor to see you again, Duke Millennium.” The man sneaks a subtle glance your way as he pops the cork and pours two glasses. “How is Lord Kamelot and his family doing?”

“They are doing quite well,” Adam replies with a smile. He takes a sip of his wine. “You may be seeing them later this week, in fact.”

“Wonderful! It’s always a pleasure to have them.” He bows. “I will have someone come to serve you right away.”

“Of course.”

You watch the sommelier leave, and within seconds a waiter pounces with menus and garden-fresh salads to grind pepper on for you both. Much like the sommelier, he bows and scrapes and gushes over the duke before letting you know just how fresh the fish is and making other such recommendations. Then he leaves you to decide.

“Everything here is delicious,” says Adam, perusing the menu, “but I particularly love their crocodile.”

“They serve crocodile here?” you ask in mild surprise. Lo and behold, there it is listed under ‘appetizers.’

“Would you care to try some?”

He’s teasing you. You can hear it in his voice, and yet… “I think I’d like to. It’s your favorite food, isn’t it?”

Adam’s face lights up. “Wonderful!” And when the waiter returns, he places the order.

Dinner is delectable, and afterwards you are pleasantly buzzed from the wine. Adam seems unaffected as he lends you his arm to walk you back to the carriage, though an idea seems to strike him along the way. Curious why he stopped, you follow his gaze. There’s a bridal shop across the street, and a woman is fussing with the display for the next morning.

“(Y/N)…” You glance up at him. “Why don’t we get married now? In secret?”

He must have had more wine than you thought. “We can’t. The Black Order—”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. He tilts your chin up and presses a lingering kiss to your lips that borders on too intimate for public. When he pulls back, he says huskily, “It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. Then we can be husband and wife and do anything we want.”

Maybe it’s the wine talking, but it sounds reasonable. There are still problems with this plan however. “Where will we get a minister at this time of night?”

“I’m certain I can find someone. Wait here a moment.” And he hurries into the bridal shop just as the clerk was about to flip their sign and lock up. Minutes later, he returns and throws a gauzy veil over your head. “Lovely,” he murmurs. “A beautiful blushing bride-to-be.”

You are blushing, both from drink and embarrassment. You try to take the veil off, but he stays your hand. “No, no,” he chides lightly, taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. “The groom can’t see your face until after the ceremony.”

This earns the laugh he was most certainly aiming for. “Then we’ll be waiting a while.”

Adam steers you into a nearby churchyard and knocks at the door. A minister pokes his head out in confusion, then looks down at you. His mouth falls open in surprise.

“Duke Millennium?”

This is the tenth time tonight someone’s called him that. You frown slightly beneath your veil as Adam explains the situation. Well, explains is a bit of a stretch. All he says on the matter is that you simply _must_ be married that moment or you and he will die of heartbreak.

The minister’s eyebrows shoot up into his receding hairline, but he stands aside to let you pass. “Pardon me, but do you have a witness? These things can’t be done without one.”

“Ah, a witness…” He hadn’t thought of that. Adam taps his chin thoughtfully, then rushes into the chilly night. You stand with the minister stunned a moment before he returns with a random passerby in tow.

It’s a short ceremony, for the priest can see how antsy Adam is. You find yourself smiling at the way he practically vibrates from excitement, so much a boy in this moment as at long last he lifts your veil and sweeps you into a kiss worthy of any fairy tale. The priest has you sign your names beside one another’s, and with that, you’re married.

“And now for the main event,” he whispers in your ear once you’re safely beside him in a cab he hailed.

Your face heats up, but there’s no denying the excited fluttering in your stomach as your destination fast approaches. Your heart pounds a mile a minute as he leads you to his penthouse suite, and the door barely has a chance to close before he sweeps you off your feet.

He holds you tightly in his arms as he whisks you into the bedroom. You’re unsure about a lot of things, but not about this. Not when he’s smiling so brightly as he slips your dress down your shoulders.

Adam kisses you deeply. He drinks down the soft gasps as he strips you and traces your body with nimble fingers. No wonder he picked this dress.

His coat, waistcoat, and shirt soon join your dress on the floor. He pulls you down onto the bed with him so that you straddle his lap. The growing bulge in his pants presses against you, and you gasp a little when he grinds you against it.

Cheeks aflame, you press a hand against his bare chest. You catch your breath as you ask, “Are you sure this is okay?”

Adam’s thumb traces your cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’m more than happy to pleasure my wife.”

 _Wife._ Your cheeks heat up even more as you lean forward to kiss him again. Adam sits up and wraps you up in his arms again. The mattress squeaks beneath you as he falls forward, switching your positions. You let out a little cry of surprise, but that vanishes as his lips assault your throat. He nips playfully at your skin, slowly works his way down until he reaches your collarbone. There he leaves a mark, safely out of sight of prying eyes when you have to leave later.

Your fingers tangle in his short hair as he kisses lower and lower. You can’t help the small giggle when he finds a sensitive spot on your belly. Then your eyes go wide and you squirm away as he slides your panties off. “Adam…!”

Gentle hands pry your knees apart again so he can admire your wet sex. Adam’s honey-colored eyes smolder as he kisses up your thigh dangerously close to your core. “How about it, my dear?” he asks, breath hot against you. A pleased shiver runs up your spine.

Blushing, you avert your eyes. “I-I don’t know.”

The way he says your name is so loving that even though you can’t find your voice, you nod your ascent.

Adam laps at you greedily, tasting every part of you as he slurps and licks. His tongue slips inside you, and there’s no escape even if you wanted to. You tug at his hair; your voice rises in pitch and volume as you feel him tease something from you. The pressure is back. The knot in your core builds and builds with each slurp.

When you come, you come hard. Your grip on his hair tightens, and though it must be painful, Adam keeps it up until you go fully limp under his ministrations. You pant and shake your head when he asks if you’re all right. He just chortles as he undoes his belt.

The sound of the zipper and rustle of fabric as he drops his trousers brings you back all at once, and you scoot away. He follows you up the bed to the headboard. “I-it’s not going to fit,” you stammer, eyeing his manhood nervously.

“I assure you it will,” he says lightly as he guides you down on the pillows.

“There’s no way.”

He parts your legs and settles between them. Again he strokes your cheek, and his lips find yours. Your nails dig into his back as his cock presses against your entrance, and the only thing stopping you from squeezing your legs together again is his waist.

Adam laughs softly. “Relax. I promise you it won’t hurt.”

“Y-you said last time it would!”

His hand traces down your side, your waist, ~~over~~ down to your core. “I believe I said it might, and that it wouldn’t last long. It will feel good soon. I promise.”

You gasp and clench as the tip sinks in. Already it’s too much. You push against his chest to make him stop, and with a little sigh, he does.

“Relax, my dear,” he scolds you lightly. His finger rubs your clit just right. “It will go in easier now. The worst part is over.”

He tweaks your clit in a way that has you shuddering and gasping, and then he’s fully inside. You let out a squeak of surprise and try to pull away, but his other hand finds the back of your head and pulls you into a deep kiss that steals the air from your lungs and any thoughts you had for the discomfort away.

Now it’s just an unfamiliar stretch. A warm full feeling that has you stretched wide and has him closer to you than you would have thought possible. When you break for air, you have to look away lest you get lost in his eyes.

“Better?” he asks.

You shift a little beneath him until the aching dulls a little. “Uh huh.”

The fingers teasing your clit move to your thigh. For a moment, he just massages your tight muscles as he spreads you farther for him.

“U-um… I-is this it?” Because if it is, you’re a little disappointed. The discomfort’s vanishing as you relax into his touch, but it's hardly as mind-blowing as before.

“This is just the start,” he promises you. He kisses you again. “Do you feel a little better about it now?” You nod. “Good. Shall we begin the main event then?”

He starts slow and steady, with small movements that have you tightening around him. He touches you everywhere, tracing your thighs to your waist to your breasts. Not an inch of you goes unexplored as he makes love to you. With each thrust he shifts gradually, and he watches your face like he’s searching for something.

And then he rubs something inside you that has you throwing your head back and clutching at his shoulders. He thrusts a little harder, a little faster, keeping that angle that has you crying out his name and unable to string two thoughts together.

“Ah! _Ah!_ Adam! That’s—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Words without meaning tumble from your lips. “Nngh! Adam! Oh _fuck!”_ He laughs against your neck as he kisses and nips.

Just as you think it can’t get any better, he turns you over. You’re pressed into the mattress and your fingers dig into the coverlet as you seek anything to hold on to. It’s more intense like this as he pounds away inside you. He strokes your hair as he kisses your shoulder and the back of your neck.

“You feel so good,” he groans against you. His hand traces down your spine and cups the swell of your ass. “So tight~”

Your back arches and you scream out his name as you climax a second time. He follows shortly after you with a few short thrusts and a groan. Adam nuzzles your cheek before pulling back to admire you.

“My debauched little angel~” he teases. “You’re practically glowing~”

He lays beside you and tugs you against his chest. In your ear he whispers, “I’ve waited so long for this, my sweet Alice.”

Your eyes widen. Only four people know about that silly nickname, two of whom are supposed to be dead, and only one would _ever_ call you his sweet Alice. You must have heard him wrong. He called you an angel before; maybe in your post-coital haze, it sounded different. He isn't Mana. He’d told you that before.

But as he nuzzles the back of your neck and whispers sweet nothings, as he coos about his little wife and pulls the blankets around you both you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong here.

* * *

Come morning, all is forgotten in the warm comfort of Adam’s arms. You’re still a little embarrassed being naked with him, but the coziness soothes away any awkwardness. When he kisses you behind the ear, you practically melt.

“Good morning, Alice.” His hand traces down your side to rest on your hip. “Did you sleep well?”

Drowsily you nod. It was the best sleep since your fairy tale coma… wait. _Alice?_ You roll over in his arms and ask, “Did you just call me—?”

A knock at the door interrupts you. “Lord Millennium?” comes a man’s voice. “We were supposed to meet for breakfast. Did you oversleep?”

More awake now, Adam sits up and rubs sleep from his eyes. “I did. Give us a moment, won’t you Sheril?”

There’s a long pause while Adam offers you a dress shirt to wear until someone fetches you more proper attire. Then, “ _Us_ , Lord Millennium?”

“My wife and I.”

“W- _wife?!_ ” The doorknob rattles. “Lord Millennium, if this is a joke—”

“No joke,” he laughs. Adam plans a kiss to your temple. “Why don’t you draw a bath while I handle Sheril?”

Once you’re safely in the bathroom, you hear the door open and muffled voices as ‘Sheril’ argues with your happy, sleepy husband. You make a mental note to ask about all the nicknames later as you draw yourself a bath to drown out the decidedly one-sided bickering. Both yours and his.


End file.
